The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  A plan began to formulate; she would put some of the capsules in Richard’s tea. If the medicine wasn’t too old, perhaps it could work. When he nodded off, she could escape.

  She looked out the tiny window to try to assess just where Richard had taken her. She craned her head all the way to the right and caught a glimpse of a vendor’s stall.

  So she was near or in the Jarro, where all the sidewalk vendors hawked their wares. She could make it to a neutral place in just a few feet from the front of the building, and then she could call Jim and…maybe he wouldn’t want to see her after she’d hurt him so badly. But maybe…a tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Meggie, you all right, love?”

  She dashed the tears away and straightened her clothing. She could get herself out of this. She was a smart and resourceful woman. She could get herself away from Richard and find Jim. And then she’d be the one on bended knee and beg him to marry her. She took a deep breath, ignoring the smell, and with her head now clear, she began to formulate a plan.

  “Yes, give me a moment.”

  Megan grabbed all the pills in the bottle and put them in her pocket. She replaced the bottle, dashed more water on her face, put the smile in place, and opened the door.

  “Thank you, Richard, I feel much better now.”

  “That’s my girl. Come have a beer, eh?”

  “Right, but I won’t drink alone. You must have one as well.”

  “Sure.” Richard’s face lit up, and he grinned at her. He seemed much more lucid and Megan was hopeful that he wouldn’t chop her up into little bits just yet. First step of the plan.

  “I shall pour,” Megan told him. “Why don’t you go and clean up a bit, and then we can talk over our drinks.”

  “Jolly good.”

  Richard went into the bath and closed the door firmly behind him. He seemed to think better of it, and cracked the door open a little and peeked out at her before turning back around. As soon as he’d stepped all the way into the bath and his back was turned, Megan reached for the glasses.

  With shaking hands, she opened six of the capsules, spilling the tiny round balls into the bottom of the glass. She heard the toilet flush and water running in the sink. Some of the beer sloshed over the edge and a few of the tiny medicine balls came with it in the foam. Megan wiped off the beer on the table and the outside of the glass with the skirt of her dress just as the door opened.

  With the full beer glass in hand, she turned to Richard as he came into the room.

  “Here you are.” Richard took the glass and waited while Megan poured some for herself in another glass.

  “Cheers,” she said and drank quickly, hoping Richard would mimic her and finish off his.

  He gulped the beer down greedily, set the glass down with a thud, and opened his arms for Megan.

  Chapter 42

  “Seamus? Seamus? Where are you when I need you?” Jim leaned against the counter in the men’s room at the police station, his head cradled in his hands. His mind rambled on and on, with each thought hitting a wall and fizzling out like a computer game.

  He and Teresa had talked to her old boyfriend, Frank Devon, and he in turn, had started the paperwork on both Richard and Megan. Frank had ordered some of his troops to stake out Richard’s apartment and to canvass his known haunts. All of the investigative policemen had the information, and were told especially about the raincoat.

  But where was Richard? And was Megan with him?

  Jim looked up at his reflection in the mirror. What would he do if Richard hurt her? What would he do if she was already dead? No, she couldn’t be. Even in the short time he knew Megan, he felt such a connection with her that he would know if that connection were no longer there.

  He stood upright and walked from the room, letting the swinging door nudge him a bit out into the hallway.

  Teresa sat calmly at Frank’s desk. She looked into a compact mirror fiddling with her hair while Frank talked on the phone. Jim looked around absently. The Metropolitan Police Station resembled closely one of the precinct houses in downtown Boston, complete with the derelicts and lowlifes who always seemed to reside there.

  Jim was relieved that Frank had taken them seriously about Megan’s possible kidnapping. Now, they just had to find her. Jim walked back into the bathroom and once again leaned against the counter.

  “Seamus. Seamus, I need to see you right now. You promised that you’d help me with one thing and this is it.

  “Please, Seamus, will you—?”

  The door swung open and a man walked into the bathroom. His eyes darted about, looking for whoever Jim was talking to. When he saw no one, he frowned, looked at Jim, and backed out of the washroom.

  Jim smiled tightly at the man, watching as the door closed soundlessly.

  “Enough, already. I give up. Holy Mother, please send Seamus to me now,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Maybe if Seamus wouldn’t come on his own, one of his superiors could nudge him into action. Jim counted to twenty and when the little guy did a no show, walked back to Frank Devon’s desk.

  “Ah, Mr. O’Flannery, come sit down.” Frank stood and gave Jim his seat while he grabbed a chair from a nearby vacant desk.

  “I’ve been talking to Teresa. She’s given me as much information as possible about what Miss Kennedy was wearing and what she might have had with her. You say you left her at the flat at nine thirty?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “She’s been gone a neat thirteen hours, then. I’ll have T fill out a missing person’s report. Paperwork is the boon and the downfall of many a loyal copper. Now, Mr. O’Flannery—”

  “Why don’t you call me Jim?”

  “Right, Jim, tell me again why you think she’s been kidnapped.”

  Jim blew out a frustrated breath, but complied with the directive. “Because, Richard O’Connell has been following us all over the country; I mean all over, from coast to coast. The first day I was here, he told her, in front of me, that it would never be over between them. He practically accosted her on the main floor of the Irish Times. Don’t think I’m overreacting when I tell you I think the man’s a lunatic.”

  “Jay-sus,” Frank said.

  “And another thing, he hates Americans. I have that from his father. Now, I know you think I’m going off on a tangent, but hear me out. What if Richard O’Connell is the serial killer and he’s done it in some warped way to get Megan’s attention? He’d kill two birds with one stone, pardon the pun. He decidedly has a screw loose. Richard’s just under six two and is left-handed. Another tidbit: he always wears a shiny brown raincoat that reaches down to the tops of his shoes and no fibers were ever found on the victims. Get me? He hates Americans. It’s his mission in his warped brain to kill all the Irish Americans he can find, and he does it to impress Megan, too. We have very little to go on with the physical description of the killer except that he is just under six two,” said Jim as he ticked off the traits on his fingers. “He is wearing a garment that doesn’t leave any fibers, and he’s left handed. I know this isn’t a lot to go on, Frank, but you can see my reasoning.”

  Frank stared at him, never so much as blinking while Jim spoke, and Jim was sure that the man thought he was as loony as Richard. After Jim finished, Frank picked up the phone.

  “Get a picture of Richard O’Connell from his father, the stock broker on Grafton and Flanning, and then circulate the photo all round. Yes, Sergeant, do it now. He is wanted for questioning and only questioning at this time.”

  Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away from the desk to quietly beat his forehead against the wall.

  The subtle pain helped keep him awake and focused.

  He could have saved her; he didn’t know how at the moment, but he could have. And when he found out how he screwed up, then he’d really knock his head against the wall.

  “Now, don’t be doin’ that, Jimmy-lad.”

  Jim looked up to see Seamus standing on thin ai
r, his knee bent and one foot crossed over the other leaning slightly on his cane.

  “It’s about da—”

  “Ah, ah, ah. None of the language now.”

  “I’ll give you language, you, you…” Jim looked around hurriedly, afraid someone had heard him talking to the wall. The hustle and bustle of the police station had masked his small outburst.

  He turned around to lean against the wall, hoping to look nonchalant.

  “Do you know where she is?” he asked quietly, looking everywhere but at Seamus.

  “No, not yet. I’m your guardian angel, and hers has told me that she’s working to free herself, that much I know.

  “And the man, Richard, is it, is not a threat…yet.”

  “Oh, great, and when will I know if he’s become a threat? After she’s dead?” Jim slammed the flat of his hand against the wall in frustration.

  “’Twill not come to that. I know it. We’re a bit short-handed or I’d take ye there meself. Like I’ve been tellin’ ye. I can’t see exactly where she is unless she calls me specifically. I’m your angel, not hers. But we’ll have it all straightened out in a bit. I’m workin’ on it, Jimmy-lad. Be patient.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t jump up and down just yet. Find her, Seamus. Find her, please.” Jim stared at the leprechaun. Seamus gave him a jaunty grin, pulled on both earlobes, and vanished.

  Chapter 43

  Richard drank deeply from his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Megan smiled at him again in her shy way, and he knew she’d come around. They could be married. He just had to do in one more. Just sitting here quietly with her like two old married people eased his always-turbulent mind.

  He was filled with lethargy, like none he’d known for a very long time. He looked up at her again and her face looked fuzzy and out of focus. He shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the fatigue. He was so tired. So tired. Perhaps he’d have to lie down for just a bit.

  “Think I’ll rest for a bit, Meggie. Clean up, won’t you? I shan’t be but a moment or two.”

  Richard staggered to the couch, unfastened his coat, and lay sprawled, his arms and legs out every which way.

  Megan held her breath, her hands clenched together in a death grip, almost afraid to make the tiniest of sounds, afraid to breathe.

  Seconds later, a soft snore blew out of Richard’s mouth.

  Megan stood rooted to the floor, afraid to move. Slowly, she turned, her eyes never moving from Richard. Inching her way, she reached up and unlocked the deadbolt.

  It snapped with a resounding thud.

  Megan held her breath. Richard could awaken any moment and grab her. She readied herself to run if he moved the tiniest bit. Quietly, she turned the knob. It opened slowly, making very little noise. When the crack was wide enough for her to slip through, she squeezed herself around the door. She pulled it to her, holding the knob until the door shut completely.

  She gave a quick look around. Which way, which way to run?

  There was a window on the far side of the long hallway and she ran to it and looked down. The view looked like she might be near the river.

  She found the stairwell at the end of the hall and ran down the steps, trying to keep her relief at bay until she was truly out of danger. She looked over her shoulder, alert for any movement from the second floor. She made it to the outside door, when a hand reached out and clutched her arm.

  Chapter 44

  “We should know something soon. Can’t very well send out so many men and turn up nothing.” Frank Devon stood and rubbed his hands over his face. Too little sleep and overwhelming anxiety for Megan’s safety hung over Jim like a blanket.

  Teresa sat sprawled in a hard wooden chair, first stretching one side and then the other. Jim watched Teresa and Frank for a moment before he continued pacing the floor near Frank’s desk.

  “Heard from Seamus?” Teresa asked as she stretched both arms over her head, giving all the men near Frank’s desk quite an eyeful.

  Jim shook his head and then continued pacing.

  “Who’s this Seamus?” asked Frank.

  “Oh, he’s a psychic or something, an acquaintance of Jim’s,” Teresa answered.

  Frank lowered his brows in thought for a moment. “A psychic?”

  Jim stopped his pacing. “Well, kind of.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his face down. He could feel a flush rushing to his cheeks, and he turned away from the desk and continued to pace. Minutes later, he stopped abruptly.

  What the hell was he doing? Why wasn’t he out there looking for Megan? Had he ever left the doing up to anyone else, ever, even when he was a kid? No, never. So why was he starting now? Just because he didn’t know the first thing about Dublin didn’t mean he couldn’t go look for her himself. Just because the city was as big as Boston, Cambridge, and Quincy all rolled into one, didn’t mean he couldn’t wear off a little shoe leather looking for her. He didn’t have to wait for Seamus or the damn Metropolitan Police, no siree.

  He could just—

  “O’Flannery, you’ve lost it for good,” he mumbled under his breath. “Where the hell do you start looking?”

  Jim grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Teresa’s. He stared at her, and kept on staring until she squirmed.

  “If you were Richard, where would you be? Come on Teresa, you know this guy and we don’t.”

  “Well, I don’t really know him; I mean we did have a conversation upon one occasion.”

  “See? That’s a lot more than me and Frank had. Now, rack that pretty head of yours and pull on this guy’s skin and tell me what you think.”

  “Oooh. That’s quite nasty, pulling on his skin, don’t you think?”

  “Never mind, just think.”

  “All right, all right, now. Well…uh…oh, well…maybe.”

  “Maybe what?” Frank asked in exasperation.

  “Well, he’s quite a fanatic, this one is. A national. Thinks the IRA are all living saints and he’d bow down and kiss their feet if he could. Always talking about the good old days, you know the Rising of 1916, like it was the ruddy second coming of Christ. Oh, one time he took Meggie to the cemetery, where the Republican plot is, where all the rebels are buried. Meggie said he went on and on about it, and it fair made her skin crawl. Talked like they was saints.”

  “Could he be at the cemetery now?” Jim asked as he turned to Frank.

  “Don’t think so. There are night patrols and the place is too open; there’s nowhere for them to stay the night out of the cold. No, he’d go somewhere he’d already arranged, I’ll warrant. But where?”

  “Is there a place considered more Irish by the Irish than any other in the city?” Jim wanted to know.

  “Well, I don’t really know, maybe the Jarro. The vendors’ stalls there are supposed to be uniquely Irish, but I hear they have much the same type of thing in the States. I’m sure they have the same type of outdoor vendors just about everywhere else in the world. There are lots of places like that in London.

  “But if O’Connell is as crazy as I think he is, he may just forget that outdoor vendors are common, and he’s parked himself at the Jarro.

  “Delusional, I’d call it. Have to be to be a serial killer, if that’s indeed who he is. Daft, completely daft. I’ll call over to that district and have some men look around. I’ll stay here in case any information comes through. Teresa, why don’t you show him where the Jarro is? Beats sitting around here waiting until you go crazy.”

  “Great idea, let’s go, Teresa.” Jim grabbed Teresa by the arm and hauled her out of the station house, barely giving her time to shrug into her coat.

  Chapter 45

  “Where ya goin’, deary?”

  Megan’s gaze jerked down to see a dirty hand with cracked nails clutching at her forearm. The hand was attached to an equally dirty woman of indeterminate age. She could have been thirty or fifty. The shabby stained dress that hung on her gaunt frame suggested only that the woman wa
s undernourished and obviously lacking convenient plumbing.

  “You be the newlyweds, eh?”

  “The newlyweds?”

  “Right enough, yer man come down some time back and set up getting the place and all for you.”

  “Ah, my husband?” Megan’s mind moved feverishly over the information. Richard had come here before he abducted her. Or was the woman even speaking of Richard?

  “Tell me, are you sure you’re speaking of my husband?”

  “Ah, love, he describes you to a tee, he did. Brought the food in meself, I did. Where is that handsome man of yours, eh?”

  “Well, uh…he’s…uh…taking a nap.”

  “Ah, you newlyweds, ya going at it so hard, makes the men tired, ah yes, it does. Now, let old Molly give you some advice. Love ’em hard and they’ll never stray, they won’t. And where are you off to?”

  “Ah, I need to get some…uh…uh, some soap chips, for the dishes. Can you tell me where a store is?”

  If the woman would only let her go! Megan was sure Richard would wake up and come rushing down the stairs to re-capture her. The woman’s croaking voice was loud enough to wake the dead.

  Megan schooled herself to act nonchalantly, like a new wife out to get soap chips, yes, nonchalant. Megan forced a smile to her lips and looked directly at the woman, trying not to shudder.

  “There’s Kelly’s down the street to the left, and then there’s O’Grady’s on the other side of the street. Go to Kelly’s. He’s got the most of anything yer heart desires, he does. You tell the old brigand that Molly sent you and he’ll do for you right enough.”

  “Why, thank you, Molly. You’re most…kind. Ta ta.” Megan literally pried the woman’s grasping fingers off her arm and ran the rest of the way out the building.

  The wind bit into her. Chill after chill after chill coursed down her spine. Her nose ran, her teeth chattered, and the goose bumps on her arms were as big as mountains.